


Different

by PinkRangerV



Category: Power Rangers, Power Rangers R.P.M.
Genre: Ancient History fix-it, Gen, Guardian-Ward Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Undiagnosed PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-16 03:18:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/857160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkRangerV/pseuds/PinkRangerV
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flynn skewered him with a look. “Th’ only difference between Corinth City an’ North Korea right now is that we ain’t th’ sort of people who spit on Truth an' Justice.”</p>
<p>In Ancient History, Colonel Truman began a witchhunt for Dr. K. Now he has to face the harm he caused in the process. Fix-it fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Different

**Author's Note:**

> So in canon, there is NO ETHICAL FOOTING WHATSOEVER for blaming Dr. K for creating Venjix. Why? She was the victim of such extreme isolation and abuse she came off as nearly having autism. In that environment, creating a friend is not just entirely normal--all children create imaginary friends, which is actually very healthy--but probably her mind's defense against isolation. When she released Venjix, it was in an escape attempt against people who were holding her prisoner, and she took every possible precaution to keep him from being destroyed. And Colonel Truman *knows this*. Maybe not the exact circumstances, but that she was kidnapped and brainwashed.
> 
> Now, I can see Dillon being pissed at K. He's got Issues. But Truman is an adult and damn well should know better. Thus, a fix-it fic. Enjoy.

Surprisingly, the first person to storm into his office wasn’t Dillon or Scott. Colonel Truman had expected the two of them; hotheaded, arrogant young men, too full of testosterone to realize just how wrong it was for the creator of the Venjix Virus to be walking around free.

The first person to storm his office was Ziggy.

“Colonel, I understand I’m only a, well, probationer to the Rangers,” He started, babbling as always, “But this, this crossed a line.”

“...Son,” Colonel Truman asked, half amused and half annoyed, “What are you talking about?”

Ziggy glared.

Colonel Truman didn’t know whether or not to burst out laughing. Ziggy glaring? Ziggy? What the hell did the kid think he was doing?

“You almost took K!” Ziggy shouted.

The war room went quiet.

Truman sighed. Lovely. “Son, sit down.” Ziggy continued to glare. “How old are you?”

“Twenty.”

Truman nodded. “So you’ve lived in Corinth most of your life, then. You don’t remember anything else.”

“...No...what’s this got to do with Dr. K?” Ziggy demanded.

Truman turned on a holographic globe. “Watch.” He started it pre-Venjix. “Green is human. Red is...well. We doubt humans can survive.”

Slowly, the world turned red. The dots of green were enough to restore humanity--five hundred people could do that--but still invisible except at nearly four hundred percent zoom.

“Do you see?” Truman offered, almost gently. It really wasn’t Ziggy’s fault, he was still a kid, and not a bright one at that. Hell, some days he couldn’t comprehend apocalypse. “Son, Dr. K murdered the entire world. I can’t bring them back. But at least I can bring them justice.”

“Justice?” Ziggy repeated, clearly outraged. “You call that justice? Forcing someone who’s so agoraphobic she couldn’t leave her bedroom for over a year outside is justice? Dr. K--no. Dr. K is barely hanging on. Now I know you don’t know her, sir--”

“Hang on.” Truman said, mildly offended. “Who said I didn’t know her? Dr. K is...was...one of my closest friends.”

“Apparently not!” Ziggy snapped. “She’s hurting! Don’t you get that? She’s hurt, all the time! She has nightmares and she cries when she plays the violin and--I’ve seen serial killers less broken!” Ziggy leveled a glare at Colonel Truman again.

Truman, for possibly the first time in his life, had honestly no idea what was going on.

“You put her through hell.” He hissed. “That’s not justice.”

Ziggy turned and left.

Colonel Truman tried to process all of this, then sighed. “Hill.” He called. “Make a note to Ranger Green’s file about his developing crush on Dr. K, please. Ask my son to make sure they don’t do anything...too stupid.” Lord, the child of Ziggy Grover roaming Corinth. The thought was horrifying.

“Yes, sir.” Hill replied.

Colonel Truman got back to work.

 

***

 

The next person to interrupt was Summer.

“Ms. Landsdown.” Colonel Truman greeted. “Can I help you with something?”

Summer set a packet on the table. “Colonel Truman. This is a full listing of the laws, American, international, and galactic, that you violated by trying to arrest Dr. K. I assumed she is a legally emancipated minor and not a ward of the state, because clearly if she were legally underage there would be another packet I’d need to assemble regarding the unlawful detention of minors.” Summer smiled. “I’m sure the information in Dr. K’s file indicating that she’s a ward of the state was just an unfortunate typo.”

Colonel Truman blinked, then opened the packet.

“This is...rather extensive.” And mostly seemed to concern proper arrest warrants and search...”What is this?”

“An order to remove your bugs from our home.” Summer smiled. Politely. “I’m sure they were only there for security reasons, but we really do find them more distracting than helpful. Perhaps a different security system is in order?”

Colonel Truman didn’t know Summer Landsdown very well, but he knew her parents. Legalese meant trouble. “I take it you’re irritated about my attempt to arrest...Dr. K.” God, to even say the name of that little monster was hell now.

How could she have betrayed the world like this?

Summer’s smile got a bit...nasty. She might be a Landsdown, but there was steel in her that was quite different from her parents’. More...gritty. Probably less polite than she was currently being. “That would be one way to put it.”

“Ms. Landsdown, my job is to protect the city of Corinth.” Colonel Truman said, annoyed. Ziggy questioning him was one thing, but Summer should know better. “I made a judgement call. I’m sorry you didn’t like it--”

“No, Colonel, it has nothing to do with whether or not I like it.” Summer snapped, her eyes firey. She leaned forward on the desk. In another woman, that might have been a move of sensuality; with Summer, it was a gesture meant to intimidate. “It has to do with the fact that, counting that Dr. K is not legally emancipated, you violated over two hundred different laws and could have sparked the Galactic Ranger Corps refusing to help us if we ever contact them.”

Colonel Truman blinked. “It wasn’t--”

“Colonel Truman, how much time have you actually spent studying law?” Summer demanded. “I went to law school. Family tradition. And let me tell you, your actions nearly caused us enough damage to lose this war completely.”

Summer lowered herself to meet Truman’s eyes.

“It takes five hundred people to repopulate the world. We have no evidence there is a human population outside of Corinth City.”

“...I understand, Ms. Landsdown.” Truman managed. That...that couldn’t...

Summer retreated, standing straight again. “I’ll leave these with you, Colonel. In case it turns out I can’t mitigate the damage from what you’ve done anyway.” She smiled frostily. “The Galactic Ranger Corps does so look down on military dictatorships, I’ll have quite a bit of work to do to ensure this stays buried.”

Summer turned to leave, then paused. “Oh! I almost forgot.”

Truman winced. He couldn’t help it.

Summer slid a piece of paper over the desk. “An authorization form to formally legally emancipate Dr. K.”

“...I’m sorry?” Dr. K could barely leave her bedroom, how the hell was she supposed to function as an adult? “You do realize the sheer amount of therapy that woman needs--”

“That woman,” Summer repeated coldly, “Needs to be safe.” Summer smiled. “I expect that signed and approved by tomorrow morning. Have a nice day, Colonel.”

She left.

Truman stared at the emancipation order. Had he really...

Today was going to be a day from hell.

 

***

 

Dillon walked into Colonel Truman’s office near the end of the day. Colonel Truman was standing at the window, looking out at the city.

Ms. Landsdown had a valid point, he’d come to realize. What he’d done had been inexcusable. Risking the city over legal trifles...

When this was over, when the Rangers no longer needed her, Dr. K would be brought to jail. And this time, Colonel Truman would be prepared.

Colonel Truman was lost in thoughts of the war, the death toll, when a hand slammed him into the wall by the throat.

“You know, I’ve been wanting to do this a while.” Dillon said almost pleasantly. “You treat Scott like shit, you know that? And I’m an ass to Scott, sure. But the dick’s my teammate. And I sure as hell don’t like watching people treat my teammates like that. Didn’t like it with Summer and her folks; don’t like it with you.”

Colonel Truman had a horrible, sinking feeling that he knew where this was going.

“But then you went after Dr. K.”

Dillon let go of Truman. A rookie mistake, but Truman only coughed. He wasn’t about to start a fight with a hybrid. Losing would be...

Not while Dillon had that morpher. Blast the little twit. Truman silently apologized to his own father for every damn sin he’d committed, and pointed to Dillon for proof that it could’ve been much worse.

“See, I didn’t like Dr. K at first.” Dillon continued, leveling a gaze at Truman that probably was intended to mean death. It wasn’t Truman’s first time staring death in the face. He looked straight back, as he always had. “I thought she’d done it on purpose. Told Summer--told everyone--that it wasn’t an accident, it wasn’t a mistake...”

Dillon’s gaze dropped. “I was right.”

...Was he angry over K’s betrayal? Truman almost winced. Well, it wasn’t like Dillon had the best role models out in the Wastes... “Son...” He started.

“It wasn’t an accident.” Dillon continued. “She was trying to build a friend.”

Truman gaped.

“Where did she grow up?” Dillon growled. Truman gaped. He thought she--

Dillon’s hand slammed down on the table. “Where?” He bellowed.

“Alphabet Soup.” Truman snapped out, military reflexes prompting the words.

“What did they do to her there?” Dillon rapped out, clean and sharp as any drill sergeant.

“I don’t know the specifics.” Truman said after a long minute. He could resist his reflexes if he chose. “But from what I know, she was brainwashed, programmed with severe agoraphobia to prevent escape, heavily isolated, and used to create weaponry of various sorts.”

Dillon raised an eyebrow.

Truman nearly snorted. “Come on. You don’t think--”

“That when someone goes a year without human contact, they’ll talk to themselves? I did. And I’m an adult.” Dillon raised an eyebrow. “She flinches when anyone does this.” He flicked his hand.

Truman had seen that flinch, and that gesture, before. Once. At military school, with a fundie boy used to being beaten with something he called a ‘rod’. He’d killed himself after a while, claiming to be too full of sin to live.

“She cries when she plays violin.” Dillon continued. “She calls all of us ‘Series Operator’ because she’s too fucking scared to use our names.” Dillon leveled his gaze at Truman again. “I tried to blame her because I wanted to not blame myself.”

What?

“I’m a hybrid. I don’t remember jack. But I know I probably killed. Probably did horrible things. I was a Grinder with more brainpower.” Dillon said calmly. No. Coldly. “And I wanted to say, look, she had a choice--because it meant I did. I hate myself sometimes. And Summer sat me down and pointed it out, and yeah, I was pissed for a few days, and then I realized--Dr. K’s hurt.” Dillon advanced on Truman. “And you knew that.”

“I’m not going to let some hurt feelings get in the way of--”

Truman was cut off by Dillon throat-slamming him into the wall again.

How was no one hearing this? Was Truman going to die here? Fear gripped him. Not much--he’d seen too much to feel real fear again--but he was suddenly very aware that, unless help came, Dillon would tear him limb from limb.

“She. Was. Brainwashed.” Dillon hissed. “And you knew that, you sorry, pathetic motherfucker.”

Whatever Truman would have said came out as a choked noise.

Dillon dropped him.

“The others want to ‘show you the error of your ways’ or some bullshit.” Dillon didn’t actually make air quotes, but they were there. “I don’t think I can. You’re so pathetic you went after a fucking kid. She’s younger than Ziggy, you know that? I think she hasn’t even stopped having zits yet.” Dillon looked at Truman in pure disgust.

He spat in Truman’s face.

Then he walked away.

 

***

 

Colonel Truman was...recovering...when his son visited. Recovering with a glass of whiskey. Colonel Truman had been saving the whiskey for a special occasion. This was probably as good as any.

He...wasn’t sure what to feel.

It was hard to deny what the Rangers said. It was harder still to ignore the thousands of dead that Truman had seen; the memories of a little girl, her head torn off by a Grinder, right in front of him; the desperate prayers he’d whispered at night when on watch, trying to get someone to survive.

K...

Had he always known? When the girl had shown up, cloaked in white, dehydrated and still dry-sobbing for people she didn’t dare name? He’d wanted to take her under his wing that second. The girl had been a wreck.

She’d been like a daughter to him, almost...

And then the thought of justice rose in him, like a tidal wave, the thought of finally watching whoever had done this, whoever had left children dead and murdered the whole damn world, left Earth so toxic under nuclear winter that it might never be inhabitable again, that even Corinth was probably only a short stop while they built a big enough space station to get out...

He’d often dreamed of watching that person’s body shake as bullets pumped into it. Of putting the gun to the monster’s head and pulling the trigger himself.

He’d imagined faces. Imagined some self-pleased hacker who’d done it ‘for the lulz’; imagined some wannabe supervillain in the old Angel Grove tradition; imagined...everything. Everything dangerous and frightening and...

He drank down his whiskey and poured another.

In his mind’s eye he saw K, tied to a pole, still in that damn white cloak. She’d demand it even as she was being executed, he knew.

...The image made his stomach turn. He couldn’t even imagine bullets.

He imagined himself putting a gun to her head.

The thought made him sick.

He could see the evil in her. Could see, in his mind’s eye, the devastation she’d wrought. But he could see other eyes, too. The eyes of a girl who, damn, couldn’t be above fifteen, still crying with no tears to shed. Trying not to whimper as she fled into shade and asked if she was going to die, saying she was allergic to sunlight over and over as the medics told her there was no such thing.

He imagined holding a gun to her head. The perfect scene. It was in front of the worst massacre he’d seen, one he’d barely survived himself. He’d always wanted to, in his mind, rub the bastard’s nose in what he was dying for; maybe it would never happen, but Truman felt wonderful sometimes just thinking that.

He found that he was holding two fingers to his side, as if a small, malnourished girl knelt.

He pressed his thumb down. “Bang.”

Someone walked in.

Truman glanced up. Scott. “Son.”

“Dad...” Scott looked nervous. Damnit. The boy always looked nervous. Truman fought back the urge to sigh, taking a healthy pull of his whiskey. Always had the dumbest-ass ideas, couldn’t keep his spine straight...god, he couldn’t wait for the boy to sort himself out, Scott would be a great man once he grew the hell up. “...Are you drinking?”

“If you want some, I should warn you it’s whiskey.” Truman deadpanned, pouring out more. “Have a seat.”

Scott took a seat, then said, “Do you want to win?”

Truman raised an eyebrow. “If this involves going into the Wastes again--”

“No.” Scott seemed to be suddenly confident. Well. About damn time. “Do. You. Want. To. Win?”

“Of course I do.” Truman asked. “Where’s this going, son?”

“You almost made sure we would lose.”

K. Of course. Were all the Rangers this damn obsessed with her? They’d heard! They knew what she’d done! God, it was like you put a little girl in front of them and they couldn’t see any reality!

Not that you can either, a little voice in the back of his head whispered, reminding him of the image of killing the betrayer of the world, of how he couldn’t complete it with K’s face attached.

“I’ve got techs.” Truman pointed out. “Good ones.”

“Who can barely do paperwork for Dr. K.” Scott countered calmly. “Leave aside the laws you’ve broken. Leave aside the ethics, and I’m not even going to comment on how Dillon of all people is lecturing you on ethics and being right. The guy can’t even manage to put the toilet seat down for Summer.” Truman raised an eyebrow. That was his boys, all right, always fighting...when the hell did Dillon and Scott become ‘his boys’? God, he needed more whiskey.

Scott’s hand stopped his before it reached the bottle.

“You nearly sacrificed all of Corinth City to kill Dr. K.” He said quietly.

Truman considered his answer for a moment. “Son,” He said, looking his son in the eye, “You haven’t seen half of what I have--”

“Bullshit.” Scott snapped. “Bull fucking shit, Dad. Don’t even pretend that. Everyone, everyone in this city has seen exactly the same damn apocalypse. You tried to protect me, I get that, and I appreciate it. But don’t think for a minute you saw anything that I didn’t. And you know what?” Scott glared. “I’m not blaming Dr. K for it. Because it wasn’t her fault.”

Truman blinked.

Scott let go of his hand. “Sorry about Dillon.” He snapped, standing. “I’ll try to keep him in check from now on.”

Scott walked off.

Truman wondered just where the fuck he’d gone wrong with his life.

And if maybe the damn Rangers had a point.

  
  


***

 

Truman fell asleep in his chair.

When he woke up it was to explosions. He bolted upright--

\--machine guns, they had fucking machine guns, the bastard Cogs were everywhere--

Tenaya 7’s gun was aimed at his face.

“Did you actually try to arrest Dr. K?” Tenaya asked, quirking an eyebrow, as far as Truman could see in the dark. “Or were the lunatics just trying to get me to help with some idiot prank?”

Truman blinked.

Tenaya stepped closer. “I asked a question, human.”

“...Yes.” Truman sat up, trying to look dignified even half-drunk. “I did. Why do you--”

Tenaya laughed.

The explosions were gone. Her laughter echoed mockingly around the room, laughter of what might have been a human if it weren’t a robot. “You?” She cackled. “You tried to arrest Dr. K? The one hope of humankind?”

...What?

“She’s your mother!” Truman blurted out.

Tenaya stopped laughing suddenly and rolled her eyes. “Look, you pathetic worm, I didn’t do this to help the psychos out, not that it’s not fun and all. I came to leave a message.” She leaned in. “Don’t. Touch. K.”

Truman goggled. “...Why?” He finally managed. Why the hell was Tenaya interested in K?

...Did Venjix want his mother back?

“Because crushing you in a day would be work!” Tenaya snapped, waving her free hand. “Not fun, not a challenge, boring! And if you get rid of Dr. K, I have no one to fight! Those Rangers need her to survive!” She glared. “And really, I’ve had K hostage...what, twice now? And I didn’t even touch her. I mean, for fuck sake.”

Truman tried to say something. Nothing came out.

Tenaya smiled suddenly. Frighteningly. “Are you sure you’re...human?”

There was an explosion of light and noise.

Then Truman passed out.

  
  


***

 

He woke to Flynn sitting next to him with a loaded gun.

“Sorry about th’ twins.” Flynn said. “Aye’ve already told ‘em not ta do that agin.”

“...Thanks.” Truman sat up and rolled his neck. Had they gotten a hologram of Tenaya 7 just to fuck with him? Damn, those two were a public menace. “At least there’s one Ranger I can count on.”

Flynn raised an eyebrow. “Y’mean not ta be angry with you about Dr. K?” Truman nodded. “Nah. I’m furious.”

Truman sighed. “Go ahead, then.” He said wearily, leaning back into his chair. “Tell me all about how I fucked up and made such a horrible mistake. Might as well listen, not like my hangover’ll let me sleep again.”

“Nah. I’m not gonna tell ya that.” Flynn said calmly. “I’m gonna tell ya about one’a my heroes when I was a lad. He was called Superman.”

Truman smiled. “I’ve heard of him.”

“Did ya know that, originally, he only stood fer Truth an’ Justice?” Flynn asked, raising an eyebrow. Truman’s eyes weren’t open, but he could hear it in his tone. “Not ‘th’ American Way’. That’s Cold War bullshite. I ain’t too fond of it meself, to be honest. What’s so great about th’ American Way? What’s that even mean?” Flynn shrugged, and now Truman’s eyes were open. This team apparently had no concept of what could get you charged with treason during wartime. They were damn lucky no one else was witnessing this. “But Truth an’ Justice? Aye, I was a happy lad followin’ that philosophy.”

“...Good for you.” Colonel Truman said, taking a guess. Where was this going?

Flynn skewered him with a look. “Th’ only difference between Corinth City an’ North Korea right now is that we ain’t th’ sort of people who spit on that.”

...Oh.

It clicked. It finally clicked, when he heard it put that way. And all the dead Truman had seen stopped raging in him and finally set their burdens down.

K was as much a victim as they were. They saw that.

And it was time Truman saw it too.

“Y’just might be tryin’ ta change that, Colonel.” Flynn continued calmly. “But me? I’ll never ferget what I learned from my heroes. If that means stayin’ th’ night ta be sure Tenaya cain’t break in again, then that’s what Aye do.” Flynn leveled another look at Truman. “An’ if it means I do whatever it takes ta be sure ya never hurt a little girl again, even if Aye go ta jail in her place, then I damn well am gonna do it, on my honor as a McAllistair.”

Truman shut his eyes again.

“You won’t.” It wasn’t so much a promise as an admission. “I...I never should have tried to do what I did.”

“No. Y’shouldn’t have.” Flynn wasn’t forgiving him exactly, but Truman wasn’t looking for forgiveness.

After a while, Truman sighed. “You know we’ll have to protect her from most of Corinth.”

Flynn snorted. “Th’ lass don’ even go outside!”

Truman chuckled. “No, she doesn’t.” He hesitated. “Is...she all right?”

Flynn hesitated. “No.”

Damnit.

“She’s been havin’ nightmares. An’ gettin’ sick.” Flynn continued. “Ain’t somethin’ we brought in, she’s gotten those through her system. It’s in her head, Summer says. K swears she’s got a sun allergy an’ her hands are ‘infected’.”

Truman opened his eyes. It...wasn’t easy, but he owed--

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Pardon?” Truman asked.

Flynn’s gun wasn’t quite aimed at him, but close. “Scott told me y’helped her through an episode of this. So y’re probably thinkin’ you kin do somethin’ about this one.” Flynn met Truman’s eyes again. “Y’can’t.”

Truman hesitated. But Flynn was right. He couldn’t help her.

Dr. K wasn’t his ward anymore.

Truman leaned back, shutting his eyes. His K, the girl he’d seen as almost a daughter, was gone.

He wasn’t tired. He shut his eyes to hide the tears.

  
  


***

 

They let him see K the next day.

Truman had planned an apology. When he walked into the kitchen, a box of some sickly marshmallow treats K loved in his hands, K was waiting at a bar stool, looking...like hell.

Her hands were bandaged. Truman already knew she’d scratched them incessantly, trying to get rid of the ‘infection’. She looked like she’d barely slept, and lost five pounds overnight. He’d known it was bad already--she wasn’t meeting him in her lab, which meant she was protecting the place, never a good sign--but he didn’t...

Truman cleared his throat awkwardly. Scott and Dillon didn’t leave. Neither did Summer, sitting a discreet distance away.

He couldn’t really blame them.

“I came to apologize.” He set the candy on the counter. “K, I...are you all right?” That hadn’t been meant to blurt out, but it had come out anyway.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was hoarse. Truman winced. “You were right, Colonel. I should have been placed under arrest.” Oh, god... “The Rangers have forbidden it, on account of my laboratory here, which I would not be able to access from jail. I cannot design functional weaponry from prison. However, after that--”

“After the war,” Truman interrupted, because he couldn’t hear any more, not when his mind was already torturing him with images of K’s head on the face he’d dreamed of blowing away, “I’d like it if you went to therapy, Doctor. To be honest I’d like it if you started therapy now, but that’s not my choice anymore.” Truman set down the paper he’d brought as well. “Ms. Landsdown asked me to file this, and I thought you’d like to see.”

K read the paper and blinked. “I don’t...”

“I arrested you under...well, I technically didn’t try to arrest you. Merely bring you back into my custody, since I was your guardian.” Truman looked down. “I will not be able to do so again.”

K stared.

“When I blamed you for Venjix, I was wrong.” Truman continued. “I know that. I know you don’t like to talk about Alphabet Soup, Doctor, but I know enough to assume you were severely abused. I...I don’t say this to excuse myself, but I’ve witnessed...” Truman pushed the memories aside, “Very horrible things. And I let my desire for vengeance override my rationality.”

K just stared.

“K.” Truman said as gently as he could. “I tried to arrest you because I was hurting. You never did anything wrong.”

“...I built Venjix.” K whispered, sounding close to tears. Truman hated the sound, but driving her past the kernel error that not being in the wrong was creating would be painful no matter what he did.

“You made a friend.”

K blinked. “H...how...”

Truman smiled. “You were a child who’d never met another child in her life. What else would you have done?” He paused. “...You know Scott still had imaginary friends at your age, right?”

Scott nearly choked on whatever he was drinking. K giggled. Actually giggled. “Series Operator Red had...” Then she gaped, grasping the implications. “...Venjix...was my...” She looked horrified and embarrassed.

“I had them too.” Colonel Truman said with a shrug. “I was...oh, ten? Younger than my boys, they’re probably twice as smart as me or something, but everyone has them. You just tried to make yours real.”

K thought. Or maybe processed.

She looked at the paper. She’d put it on her lap unthinkingly. Truman saw a tear drop onto it. “...Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me.” Truman said, his heart heavy. “I should have said this from the beginning.”

“No shit?” Dillon muttered. Truman ignored that.

“I’m sorry.” Truman said quietly. “For all the harm I did.”

It was his turn to walk away.

He had no pride after what he’d done, but at least he left knowing he’d done all he could.

Knowing it was time to let the dead rest.

They’d earned it.

In his mind, Truman saw the gun again, saw the faces. He let his mind cycle through them. They ended with K’s, sweet and trusting and broken.

He threw the gun away and helped her to her feet.


End file.
